For Want of a Nail
by The Lark
Summary: A parody of the six origin stories, with a twist
1. The Adventures of Elissa Sue

_Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age, it belongs to the creative geniuses at Bioware_

Chapter One: The Adventures of Elissa Sue

Elissa Cousland strutted into the main hall of Castle Cousland with the grace of a stalking panther. "You sent for me, Father?"

Teyrn Bryce brightened visibly at the sight of his only daughter. "Oh, sorry pup, I didn't see you there. Don't know how I missed that aura of unearthly radiance that you're giving off right now. You remember my best buddy Arl Howe, right?"

Arl Howe gave her a coy grin and a low whistle. "Hey, sweetie, nice aura you've got there."

"Are you coming on to me?" Elissa responded, a frown marring her delicately beautiful face.

The arl's cheeks reddened. "Uh, of course not! I'm just, um…trying to find a girl for m-my son! Yeah, that's it."

Bryce coughed awkwardly. "Right. Anyway, pup, I summoned you here for a reason. I'm leaving you in charge of the castle while I go off to fight evil with my bro, here." He clapped the arl on the back.

Elissa's vibrant aquamarine eyes flashed with anger. "Are you crazy? You're leaving me behind? Everybody knows I'm the greatest warrior in Ferelden! Remember that time I single-handedly slew two high dragons and a horde of undead, armed only with a salad fork? Besides, you're going to need my help, since Arl Howe is clearly planning to betray you."

"I beg your pardon?" spluttered Howe nervously.

"Oh, come off it, Howe!" Elissa tossed her lustrous mahogany hair disdainfully. "You're clearly evil. I mean, come on, you're voiced by Tim Curry!"

Bryce surreptitiously elbowed his daughter. "What have I told you about spoilers?" he hissed.

"Fine, fine, sorry," she sighed.

"Now then, there's someone you should meet. Duncan!" Bryce called.

A dark, mysterious, and stoic man entered the room. "Hi, I'm Warden-Commander Duncan. I'm going to hang out here at the castle while your daddy and brother are gone."

"NO-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O!" Arl Howe suddenly shrieked. "My brilliant bid for power, foiled after years of…!" He trailed off, glancing around the room awkwardly. "Um, I have to go now."

Elissa shook her head. "Daddy, can't you see he's up to something?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Bryce chuckled. "He probably just forgot to take his medication again. Now, as I was saying, be polite to Duncan while we're away."

Elissa quirked a dark and elegant eyebrow. "Wait a minute, Duncan. If you're the commander of the Grey Wardens, shouldn't you be going with them to fight the darkspawn?"

"Hey, she's got a point there," Bryce noted. "Maybe you should ship out with my troops tonight."

"Why would I want to go fight off a Blight?" Duncan snickered. "I've got underlings for that! I'd much rather ride it out here. Bask in the lap of luxury for a while, maybe spend some quality time with Her Ladyship…" He sidled up to Elissa. "You got a boyfriend, hot stuff?"

"Sorry, Duncan, but you're not my type. I'd prefer a shy yet brave knight with an inferiority complex and a charming sense of humor."

"Damn!"

"Enough of this! Elissa, go tell Fergus it's time to head out," He shoved his daughter toward the door, slammed it shut, and bolted it behind her."

Elissa hadn't gotten two steps from the door when a redheaded knight tapped her on the shoulder. "Lady Cousland, your dog went on a rampage in the kitchen, and I offered to come find you. With your inherent virtue and sensitivity, I'm sure you've got what it takes to tame any beast."

"Of course, Ser Gilmore," Elissa smiled, revealing a set of dazzling white teeth.

When the pair entered the kitchens, they found an aged, weary-looking woman standing next to the larder. "Hi, Nan!" Elissa beamed. "Remember me, your old charge Elissa?"

"You again?" Nan groaned. "Look, just get out now! Maker help me, the whole reason I asked for a transfer to the kitchen was to get away from you!"

Elissa's adorable button nose crinkled with confusion. "Whatever do you mean? I was always a model child."

"Yes, yes, you learned how to change your own diapers at three months and how to solve differential equations at six months. Bloody know-it-all." The old woman rolled her eyes. "Just get the stupid dog out of the food and go."

"No problem." Elissa opened the larder door to retrieve her beloved pet. "Come here, Laddie!"

Laddie bounded up to her, barking urgently.

"What's that, Laddie?"

"Ruff!"

You were defending the kitchen from giant rats?" And Timmy fell down the well?"

"Maker's breath, even her dog is a know-it-all," grumbled Nan. "Go on and shoo, I think I hear your mom calling you."

"Okay, bye!" Elissa chirped obliviously, walking off the wonder dog trotting adoringly at her heels. As she rounded the corner on the way to her brother's quarters, she found her mother chatting with a friend.

"Hi, Mom, how's it going?" she greeted.

Her mother ignored her. "What are you doing home? I thought I told you to go out and look for a husband! What are you now, pushing nineteen? You should have at least four kids by now!"

"Sorry, Mom, but I'm waiting for Ser Right. You know, a shy yet brave knight with an inferiority complex and a charming sense of humor."

"Whatever. You'd better go find Fergus, that quest marker isn't going to move itself."

On the way to her brother's room, Elissa wandered through the library. There, she found her old tutor, Brother Aldous, giving lessons to a pair of bored young squires. "Oh, hello Lady Cousland. Would you care to give me a hand with this lesson on your family's history? I can't seem to get through to these kids, but with your angelic voice and unparalleled oratory skill, I bet you'll be able to."

"Certainly, Brother Alduous." She smiled serenely. "Well, boys, I come from a long line of awesome…

"Yes, the Couslands are pure, unmitigated awesome," Aldous piped up helpfully. "The Howes have always been their archenemies, and they kind of betrayed our country to an evil usurper a couple decades back…but don't worry, I'm sure they'd never do anything like that again."

Elissa sighed sadly, giving the old scholar a pat on the head. "You keep thinking that if it makes you feel better, old man."

Meanwhile, in another wing of the castle, Fergus Cousland was bidding his family farewell. "Don't worry, honey. I'm not going to die," Fergus assured his wife.

"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about me!" Oriana replied urgently. "Please don't leave me and the kid alone with Tim Curry! You know it won't end well!"

"Oh, nonsense, you'll be perfectly safe. My teenaged sister will be here to take care of you. I know she may not look that scary, but she did fight off a horde of undead with her salad fork that one time."

"Damn straight!" The girl in question interjected from the doorway. "Don't worry, Fergus, I'll take good care of the family while you're gone. I just wish I could go with you. I'd rather not be stuck at home when all of this foreshadowing hits the fan."

Moments later, the teyrn and teyrna appeared. "Hi kids. We thought we'd swing by, you know, to get the whole family together one last time…er, that is, one last time today. Yeah, that's it."

In frustration, Elissa banged her perfectly proportioned head against the wall. "Maker's mercy, I clearly didn't inherit my unsurpassable cunning from any of you. I can't listen to any more of this, I'm going to bed." She waved over her shoulder. "It's been nice knowing you all."

Later that night, she awoke to the sound of frantic barking. "What is it, Laddie?"

"Ruff!"

"You say Arl Howe has decided to betray my father, lay siege to our castle, and murder the whole family?"

"Woof!"

She leapt out of bed with a victorious fist pump. "Finally! Some action! I thought those dialogue trees would never end!"

Laddie whined disapprovingly.

"Sorry, what I meant to say was, that monster! We've got to stop him, boy!" She shouldered her weapons, her face a stunning mask of righteous fury. Kicking the door open, she thundered her favorite battle cry. "LET'S GET DANGEROUS!" She nocked an arrow, drew her bowstring, and was about to turn the invaders into pincushions, when her parents' door suddenly swung open.

Teyrna Eleanor emerged in full battle gear, with a salad fork clasped in her hand. "Don't mess with Highever, punks!" she screamed, charging into the fray. Moments later, the would-be assassins lay bleeding on the floor.

Elissa goggled. "Mom? Did you just steal my bit?"

"It was my bit first," Eleanor smirked. "Now come on, sweetie, let's waste these scumbags!"

"Maybe we should check on Oriana and Oren first?"

"Okay." She opened the door. "Holy Maker! They killed my grandson! This doesn't make any sense! What would the man who is after my husband's title want to kill his legitimate heir?"

"Go figure that one, huh?"

The teyrna turned to her daughter. "Well, we'd better go find the Cousland family sword and shield, so you can use them to kill the creep who did this."

"But Mom, I'm an archer. Isn't there a Cousland family bow you could give me instead?"

"Sorry. If you wanted to fight with one of those, you should have been born a Dalish elf. Now go get the damn sword!"

"Aw, no fair…"

After grabbing the useless set of heirlooms, Elissa and her mother stumbled across Ser Gilmore and a troop of guards, preparing to defend the front door. "Your Ladyship! My lady! I'm so glad to see you both alive. You'd better sneak out the back. I'll cover your escape."

"Why don't you and your men come with us?"

"Nope, I'd better stay behind. More dramatic that way."

"Suit youself. Idiot." The young noblewoman and her surprisingly awesome mom proceeded to hack and slash their way through twelve regiments of Howe's troops, three flocks of drakes, and a fire-breathing revenant, until they finally arrived at the secret entrance in the larder.

Elissa's luscious rosebud mouth gaped in horror at the sight of her father bleeding out on the floor. "Daddy? What happened?"

"Howe," Bryce rasped. "He...betrayed me."

"You don't say," she deadpanned.

If either of her parents noticed the sarcasm, they didn't comment. "We've got to get you out of here, Bryce!" Eleanor gasped.

"Yeah, good luck with that," Bryce groaned, clutching his wounded chest.

Elissa silenced their worries with an imperious wave of her long, graceful hand. "Don't worry, Daddy. Duncan's here somewhere. He'll come and save us."

Right on cue, a paper airplane sailed through the window and landed in Elissa's thick and luxurious hair. "What's this?"

"There's writing on it," Eleanor noted, opening the airplane to read the letter hidden inside.

_Dear Elissa,_

_Sorry to hear about Arl Howe's betrayal, but my sympathy is limited, as you really should have seen it coming. There's an entry-level position that just opened up in the Grey Wardens, and I've been thinking about offering it to you in exchange for sneaking you out of the castle. However, after a bit of reflection, I have elected to look elsewhere for my recruit. While your talents are ridiculously impressive, I'm afraid your unearthly beauty might prove to be a distraction to some of my men, especially my shy yet brave protégé Alistair._

_Best Wishes,_

_Duncan_

TO BE CONTINUED...

A/N: And before you all get mad at me, I actually loved the Human Noble Origin, I just think it's been done to death.


	2. Odd Man Out

Chapter Two: Odd Man Out

"Wake up, cousin! Why are you still in bed? It's your big day."

Darrian Tabris sat up, yawning widely. "Shianni? What are you doing in my room?"

His adorable redheaded cousin just giggled. "I came to tell you I saw your betrothed. She's really pretty, but it's too bad you're not a girl. Then your betrothed would be a hot guy I could check out."

By this stage in his life, the young elven man had become used to these kinds of comments. "Sorry, Shianni."

"Aw, nobody's blaming you. Go get dressed, I'll see you later."

Darrian obediently rolled out of bed and dug his wedding suit out of the only container in the house. He was in the process of buttoning up his shirt, when his father walked in.

"Good morning, son, and congratulations on your upcoming wedding!" Cyrion smiled, eyes softening in reminiscence. "You sure have grown up fast. I still remember the day you were born. The midwife placed you in your mother's arms. Adaia pushed back the swaddling clothes, looked into your eyes, and said 'Aw, nuts! I wanted a girl!' Then I walked into the room and said, 'Oh no, a boy? Male elves are so pointless. Slight stature and delicate facial features are only awesome on a woman! Maybe we should drown it and try again.' But your mother wouldn't hear of it."

"Yeah, yeah," Darrian grumbled, shrugging on his jacket. "You tell me this story every day. Can we get this show on the road?"

"All right. But first, I have something for you." Cyrion produced a package. "Your mother made these while she was pregnant with you, for you to wear on your wedding day."

Darrian opened the box, revealing a pair of exquisite leather boots. He slipped them on. "Wow, they fit perfectly! How did Mom know what my shoe size would be before I was even born?"

Cyrion shrugged. "Elven women are just that awesome. Now, then, you'd better go find Soris. That quest marker isn't going to move itself."

Darrian stepped outside, into the dank, smoky morning air of Denerim's squalid Alienage. A trio of drunken men were reciting limericks across the street. "Hey, Darrian, how's it going?"

Darrian frown disapprovingly. "You're drunk."

"Of course we're drunk! We're male Alienage elves," slurred one of the men.

"Yeah! Being scrawny and having low social status would be cool if we were girls, but everyone hates those qualities in a man," the leader of the pack sneered bitterly.

"Nobody likes us," the third man sobbed. "So we turned to alcoholism to dull our pain."

Darrian smiled sadly. "I know how you feel, but addiction isn't the answer. So, did you bring me a wedding present?"

"Sure did! Here's thirty bits!"

Darrian blinked. "Your wedding gift for me is thirty cents?"

"You're welcome!"

"Well, thanks, maybe I'll buy myself half an elfroot in your honor." Rolling his eyes, Darrian headed for the center of town to find Soris. As he neared the majestic vhenadahl, he was alarmed to see his friend Nessa and her family loading their possessions onto a cart. "Oh no! What happened, guys?"

"We're leaving," Nessa's father explained. "The human who owns our building kicked us out."

"Why? Were you late on your rent? Did you set something on fire?"

"No, I think he was just doing it for the lulz. Anyway, now we have to go to Ostagar, where we will be beaten and overworked and soldiers will rape my daughter. Later!"

"Is there anything I can do?"

"I'd rather have my family beaten and raped than take help from a lowlife like you, Tabris. I mean, look at you! You're not even a girl!"

Wearily, Darrian shuffled away. As he rounded the vhenadahl, he noticed an older couple whispering behind his back. "Is that young Tabris?"

"I think so, he looks a bit like his mother."

"I don't know. I think he'd be easier to recognize if he were a girl."

Darrian decided to spare them any further debate on the subject. "Yes, it's me, young Tabris."

The woman smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, we didn't mean for you to hear us talking behind your back. It's just that your ears are much smaller and flatter than is normal for elves, so we figured you must have some sort of hearing disorder."

The young groom touched his ears self-consciously. "Yeah, the other kids always used to tease me on account of these. But I think that I'll be glad to have them someday, when I have to fit my head into a battle helmet."

"Well, now that that's out of the way," the woman continued, "we're friends of your mother. We just stopped by to wish you well and give you some money we've been saving for your future." She slapped a purse full of coins into his hand.

Darrian inspected its contents quizzically. "Fifteen silvers? You call this a trust fund? A Tier One dagger costs more than that!"

"Don't spend it all in one place, now!"

"This dump is full of cheapskates," grumbled Darrian, heading for the Alienage gate.

Along the way, he spotted a crippled man with a begging cup in his hand. "Spare a bit for a man who can't work?" the beggar asked hopefully.

"One bit? That's not enough to live on. Here, take a couple of silvers," Darrian offered.

The old man burst into tears of gratitude. "Oh, Maker bless you, son! I just knew there had to be at least one decent person among all these cheapskates!"

The young groom nodded knowingly. "Tell me about it!"

"This is the worst patch in Denerim for begging! Why, sometimes it'll take me a month to save up enough for a piece of bread!"

"I know, it's terrible!" Darrian gave the man a hug. "Good luck to you, friend. I've got to go meet my cousin."

He turned the corner, and found Soris lounging against a tree. "Hey Soris, how's it going?

"Lousy," sulked the thin, spiky-haired boy. "I just saw my betrothed and she looks like a mouse."

"Well, no offense, cuz, but you're no teen idol yourself."

"Shut up!" Soris snapped. "Sorry, sorry, I'm just a little nervous about this whole "Fiddler on the Roof" style marriage."

"I know," Darrian soothed. "But what else can we do? We're elven men. Girls don't find short, skinny, fine-boned guys like us attractive. If the matchmakers didn't force them to marry us, they'd all run off with human guys and our species would go extinct."

The two cousins headed back toward the vhenadahl, but were intercepted by an ugly, weathered-looking woman whose hair and skin clashed horribly. "So, you landed yourself a pretty little prize, did you?" she sneered jealously at Darrian.

"I wouldn't know, I haven't met her yet," he replied.

"Your father has the money to get you a hot wife, you spoiled brat!" She sighed wistfully. "I wish I had the money for a hot wife! Uh…I mean…that didn't come out right." Cheeks flushing, the bitter woman fled.

Darrian stared after her. "I have a feeling that tirade would have made more sense if I was a girl," he mused.

But that was forgotten as the two brides approached, trailed by a gaggle of bridesmaids. Darrian smoothed back his hair, and was preparing to go introduce himself, when a trio of noblemen appeared.

"Mwahahahaha!" laughed their tall, blond leader.

"Get a load of that evil laugh," Soris snickered under his breath.

"I know," Darrian whispered, fighting a smile. "He sounds like a bad Dracula impersonator."

"I'm Bann Vaughan, your friendly neighborhood stock villain," the nobleman crowed. "My friends and I are here to…eat all your puppies! Bwah hah hah!"

"This is a ghetto, stupid," Darrian snorted. "We don't keep any puppies here, we can't afford them."

"Oh." Vaughan looked deflated for a moment. "Fine, then. I guess I'll have to rape all your women instead!" He turned on Shianni, slavering evilly.

"No!" The redheaded boy beside her yelped. "Please don't hurt my sister, milord!"

Darrian frowned. "Who are you, kid? Are you supposed to be another relative?"

Soris looked him over curiously. "Yeah, there's definitely a resemblance. You've got the same hair, the same skin, and the same eyes as Shianni."

"Hey, if you're my cousin too, how come I've never met you? This alienage is just a few hundred pixels wide, it's not like you couldn't have visited us!" Darrian pointed out.

The boy sniffled sadly. "I'm Shianni's older brother. I haven't met any of you because my existence was a shameful family secret. When I was born, our parents were really disappointed, because they'd been hoping for a girl. When they saw I was a boy, they decided to put me up for adoption and try again." He wiped a tear from his eyes. "I guess I should at least be grateful they sent me to an orphanage instead of drowning me at birth."

Darrian and Soris threw their arms around their long-lost relative, sobbing openly. "I feel your pain, little cousin!" Darrian wept. "You're not alone anymore!"

Vaughan cleared his throat loudly. "AHEM! Hello! Evil puppy-eating rapist here, about to attack your adorable little cousin." He stamped his foot petulantly.

"I don't think so, loser!" Shianni countered, smacking him upside the head with a glass jug.

"Ooh, you're gonna be sorry!" one of his toadies gloated. "I'm telling!"

"Yeah, yeah, we're shaking," Darrian sneered. "Just get your boss' corpse out of here, I'm supposed to be meeting my new wife here and I don't want a mess."

"We'll get you for this insult, knife ears, and your little dog, too!"

"For the last time, I don't have one yet!" Darrian retorted. Turning to his betrothed, he smiled apologetically. "Hi, sorry about that. I'm Darrian, your betrothed."

The girl smiled back at him. "Hello, Darrian, I'm Nesiara. I'm so glad to finally meet you."

Darrian stared at her in disbelief. "Y-you are? You mean you're not disappointed because I'm a guy?"

Nesiara looked confused. "Well, of course not. A girl kind of expects her future husband to be a guy."

"Nobody's _ever_ expected me to be a guy before," Darrian breathed incredulously. "Maker's breath, I think I'm in love!" Unable to help himself, he pounced on the girl, kissing her passionately.

When Soris finally tore them apart several minutes later, Nesiara fought to catch her breath. "W-well, I'm flattered by your, er, enthusiasm." She cleared her throat awkwardly. "I have to go now."

Darrian glared at his cousin. "Why'd you have to interrupt us? We were getting on so well."

"Well, reason number one, you were about to be arrested for public indecency," Soris replied. "And number two, another human just walked in."

Darrian sighed. "Well, we'd better go run him off before he starts threatening to eat our puppies."

They cautiously approached the interloper, a tall, dark, and stoic warrior. To their surprise, he smiled when he saw them coming. "Hello, boys. My name is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens. I'm looking for Darrian Tabris."

Darrian raised his hand. "That's me."

Duncan's face fell. "But you're a guy."

"What d'you care?"

"I was hoping to recruit a spunky, street-smart elven maiden to add some diversity to the Wardens," Duncan explained. "The affirmative action lobby has been all over us lately for filling our ranks with rich, white humans. I figured an economically disadvantaged female elf would be just what I need to shut them up." The Warden-Commander gave a longsuffering sigh. "But there's no use crying over spilled milk."

"Bah, who needs you?" Darrian retorted. "I've got my new wife now, and she doesn't care that I'm a guy! Come on, Soris!" He towed his cousin up to the platform, where the brides had taken their place.

"Oh, good, Soris, you're here," Soris' bride took his hand.

"Yep, fellow groom in tow."

"Hello again, Nesiara, I can't wait to marry you!" Darrian took his fiancée's outstretched hand and hauled her possessively against his side. "Now we'll be together forever and ever, and I won't ever have to feel ashamed of being a guy again!"

Nesiara looked more than a little disturbed.

The priestess took her place in front of the brides and grooms. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of Crystal Dragon Jesus, to join…"

She was interrupted when Bann Vaughan and his cronies stormed back into the Alienage. "All right, it's time for me to prove who the boss of this dump really is! Hand over your women and your puppies, and nobody gets hurt." He pointed at several of the women in the wedding party. "I'll take those two, the one in the tight dress, and a large Diet Coke." His eyes fell on Nesiara. "Oh, and see the pretty bride!"

"Whatever." Nesiara shrugged. "You can't be any worse than this nut." She jerked a thumb at her adoring bridegroom.

"No!" screamed Darrian. "I won't let you take away the only person who doesn't want me to be a girl!" He charged the bann, fists flying, but it was no use. One of Vaughan's cronies snuck up behind him and knocked him unconscious.

When he came to, Soris was hovering over him. "Are you all right, Cousin?"

"I'd better be. I haven't seen an emergency room anywhere in this alienage. Where are the women?" Darrian asked, rubbing his concussed head.

"Vaughan took them," the village elder explained helpfully. "You and Soris will have to go after them."

"What? Why? Aren't there any cops we could call on him?"

"No."

Darrian groaned. "There's an appalling lack of emergency services in this community. I think we should notify our member of the Landsmeet."

"We don't have one."

"I hate Ferelden!" Darrian looked to Duncan. "Hey, Duncan, maybe you should come with us. You've got a lot more combat experience than Soris and I do, and since you're a human, it wouldn't be as risky for you."

Duncan laughed heartily. "Me? Help you fight? That's a good one. No, no, I have underlings to do my fighting for me. Besides, it's more dramatic if you ride to the rescue yourselves."

"But—"

"Anyway, this whole dilemma is your own fault. If you were a girl, you'd already be inside the arl's palace kicking butt." There was a loud murmur of assent from the crowd.

Darrian gritted his teeth. "Isn't there anything you can do to help?"

Duncan considered this. "Hm. I guess I could lend you my sword. Here, just be careful." He handed over the blade.

The young elf looked it over dubiously. "This isn't your sword. This is a crappy iron twig. What happened to the awesome enchanted dragonbone sword and dagger set you were wearing a minute ago?"

Duncan clutched the blades in question possessively. "Keep your grubby paws off these, knife-ears, they were expensive! Besides, at second level, you won't have the strength stats to wield them anyway."

Darrian snatched the crappy sword, grabbed Soris' sleeve, and stomped off. "I'm surrounded by cheapskates," he muttered.

When the pair of grooms entered the palace courtyard, they were met by a dozen guards and a pack of mabari warhounds. "Now remember, Soris," Darrian whispered, "if anyone asks, we're here to deliver the Bann's pizza." Darrian smiled nervously, preparing himself for a persuade check. "Good morning, gentlemen!" he greeted innocently.

"It's a couple of harmless elven servant boys!" screamed the lookout. "To arms! They're clearly out for blood!"

Darrian raised his eyebrows. "Well, yes we are, but how in the Maker's name did you know that?"

The cousins proceeded to slay every guard in the house. "Cousin," Soris ventured, wiping blood from his eyes, "do you really think it's ethical to kill all these people just because their boss is a pig?"

"Well, I don't know how we can avoid it! I took two ranks of persuade, but I still haven't had a chance to resolve anything peacefully!" Darrian defended, swinging at a snarling mabari.

The pair finally reached the long hallway leading to Vaughan's quarters. Without warning, an enormous ball of fire hurtled toward them. Screaming bloody murder, they scrambled for cover. After the explosion, Darrian crawled out of the closet he had been crouching in. "You okay, Soris?"

"I think so," Soris replied, rubbing his singed eyebrows. "Why does Vaughan have a giant fireball trap outside his quarters? Wouldn't that make it a little difficult to order room service?"

"You'd think, wouldn't ya?" With a shrug, Darrian knocked on the evil nobleman's door. "Yo, open up, we've got your pizza."

"About time!" The door swung open, revealing an annoyed Vaughan. "Hey, you're not the guy who brings the pizza!"

"Darrian! " cried a battered Shianni, lying on the cold stone floor. "It's about time you showed up. If you'd been girl, you would have been here with us all along, you slacker."

"That's it!" roared Darrian. "I have had enough of this! All my life, everyone's been treating me like scum just because I'm not a girl! Only one person didn't judge me for it, and _you_ stole her away!" He turned his blade on Vaughan. "You'll pay for that, human!"

Seconds later, the battered remains of Vaughan and his cronies were smeared on the ceiling and walls. Soris gaped at his cousin, who was covered in blood and laughing hysterically. "Darrian, you _do _know that we're totally going to get the axe for that, right?"

"Huh?"

"They're going to purge the Alienage when they find out what we've done!"

"Who is 'they'? We just singlehandedly massacred the bann and every soldier in his palace. Even if the arl and his men somehow make it home from Ostagar, which I doubt, how are they going to defeat badasses like us on our own turf? Especially in the Alienage, with its highly defensible urban terrain and preexisting fortifications?"

Soris shrugged. "I have a funny feeling the devs will find a way. But I'd rather not think about that right now. Let's go get the women."

Right on cue, Nesiara emerged from Vaughan's dungeon. "It's okay, Valora, you can come on up, our captor is dead!" she called down the stairs. "What a relief. Oh, thank you so much for…" She trailed off, recognizing Darrian under all the gore on his face. "Aw no, not you again!"

"Nesiara!" Darrian dropped his sword and swept her into his arms. "Thank the Maker you're unharmed, my sweet love!"

Nesiara's face began to turn blue as she struggled for breath. "D-D-Darian, you're hurting me!" she choked.

"Oh, sorry." He loosened his hold. "You just rest easy, sugarplum. Darry's here, you're safe now."

Soris looked like he was going to be sick. "Ugh. Can we _please_ get out of here?" he asked, helping a bruised and bloody Shianni to her feet.

"With pleasure!

They marched triumphantly into the Alienage. "Good news, everybody," Darrian announced. "We killed the evil nobleman who's been raping our women and eating our puppies for all these years!"

"You stupid kid!" The village elder whacked him over the head with his cane. "What were you thinking?"

"Well, I was trying to save the—"

"Now the arl's going to have us all killed, thanks to you, you moron!"

"But you're the one who told me to—" Darrian protested.

"Shut up!" The old man silenced him with another whack from the cane.

Darrian was spared any further hypocrisy from the elder when a troop of guards marched into the Alienage. "All right, which one of you knife-ears killed the arl's son?" their captain demanded.

"I did," Darrian stepped forward, raising his hand.

"_You_?" The captain goggled. "But you're not even a girl!" He recovered his composure. "Well, I'm tempted to just let you off the hook. I wasn't looking forward to having to fight for that little punk Vaughan when he inherited the arling. But unfortunately, the law requires me to arrest you."

Duncan chose this moment to finally be of some help. "Just a moment, captain. You can't take the elf, I'm conscripting him into the Wardens. He seems brave resourceful enough, even if he isn't a girl."

The captain shrugged. "Whatever. Thanks again for getting Vaughan out of the picture, kid." He gave Darrian a friendly salute and led his troops back to the gate.

Duncan shouldered his blades and motioned for Darrian to follow him. "Let's go, kid. We've got places to go and monsters to stab."

"Sorry, Duncan, but I'm staying here." He clasped Nesiara's hand tightly. "I can't leave now that I've finally found true love!"

"No, no!" Nesiara reassured him frantically. "Really, you should go with him, I don't want to stand in the way of your duty!" She shoved him toward Duncan. "Go on, fulfill your destiny!"

Darrian smiled adoringly at his betrothed. "You must really love me to make such a sacrifice. But I can't let you go through with it. I'm staying right here with you. We shall be married at once, and I'll never let you out of my sight again!"

"NO-O-O-O-O-O-O-O!" Nesiara screamed, running toward Highever as fast as her legs would carry her.

"Nesiara? Darling, where are you going?" Darrian bolted after her, looking puzzled. "Come on, stop playing hard to get!"

Duncan sighed. "Well, he's clearly going to have his hands full for a while. Looks like I'll have to find myself a new recruit."

TBC

A/N: Wow, that was long! City Elf is my favorite origin, and I've played it so many times I've got it memorized. First character I ever beat the game with was a male Tabris, and I've noticed he doesn't seem to get much love from the fans : (


	3. Two's a Crowd

Chapter Three: Two's a Crowd

"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him," lectured Knight-Commander Greagoir imperiously. "That's why I'm going to force you into a drug-induced coma, to fight for survival against a series of parasitic demons." He paused thoughtfully. "Well, that, and we Templars like to make bets on how long we think it'll take you to die. " Greagoir clapped his hands with glee. "So let's get started! Daddy needs a new pair of greaves!"

"Sorry about him," the wizened First Enchanter apologized. "I think the lyrium is starting to addle his mind. Or maybe it was the marijuana. Well, anyway, do you have any last questions for me before your test?"

Daylen Amell raised a hand timidly. "Actually, yes. What is _she_ doing at _my_ Harrowing?" He indicated the young elven woman standing beside him. "I thought these were supposed to be top-secret."

"What are you talking about? You're the one who's horning in on _my_ Harrowing," Neria Surana defended, giving her fellow apprentice a shove.

Irving insinuated himself between the pair, trying to keep things civilized. "Look, I know it's a little unorthodox, but we've got to put you two through the Harrowing together. There just isn't enough lyrium here to send you each into the Fade separately." He shot Greagoir a dirty look. "Of course, I would have had plenty for both of you, if a certain junkie who shall remain nameless hadn't decided to raid my medicine cabinet last night."

"Hey, I'm not the one on trial, here!" Greagoir defended, sweating nervously.

Irving took the apprentices aside. "Don't worry, kids, you'll do fine. The secret is to try not to get possessed."

"Hey, no outside help!" the Knight-Commander barked.

"Don't worry, that statement was absolutely no help whatsoever," Neria responded derisively.

The two apprentices stuck their hands into the basin full of goo, which somehow transported them into a realm of dreams. "Whew, what a trip," Daylen exclaimed, surveying the twisted landscape. "My vision sure did get fuzzy all of a sudden, though."

"Mine too," Neria groaned, rubbing her eyes. "I think there was something funny in that lyrium. That junkie Greagoir's probably been cutting it with Maker knows what." She sighed. "Oh well, I guess we'd better look around for those parasitic demons we're supposed to be fighting."

"Maybe they're in here," Daylen suggested, sticking his head into a vase.

"Daylen, if you keep talking like this, Irving's going to send you back to the Circle psychologist! Why would anyone look in a vase while they're searching for demons?" Neria massaged her temples forcefully. "I can't believe they made me share my Harrowing with this dork."

"Hey, there's bunch of shimmery things in here."

"I saw 'em first! They're mine!" Neria pried the vase off his head and grabbed the shimmery things possessively.

"Hey, I called dibs! Give them back!" Daylen smacked her feebly. "If we survive, I'm telling!"

From out of nowhere, a mouse appeared. Then, miraculously, the little creature transformed into a fully-grown human mage. The apprentices would have been awestruck if they'd seen any of this, but they were too engrossed in their tug-o'-war at the moment. Annoyed, the shapeshifter hurled a couple of rocks at the pair and repeated the transformation.

"Ow! Hey, what was that?" Daylen looked up, rubbing the back of his head.

"I'm not falling for—hey, look!"

The pair turned around just in time to see the mouse turn into a human yet again. "Wow!" Daylen breathed. "How did you do that?"

"Oh, any experienced mage can shapeshift if they have the proper—"

"No, no, I meant your clothes. How did you get them to transform with you?" Daylen touched the stranger's robes curiously. "Incredible!"

Neria shoved her colleague aside. "Never mind him. Have you any sage advice for us, o mighty denizen of Dreamland?"

"Yup. There's a blacksmith with a convenient armory full of weapons just north of here. Go get one. Then go visit the spikey bear to the south, and pick up a meat shield. Afterward, you'll be well-prepared for the boss fight in the center of the map."

"Finally, someone with actual advice! Thanks, mysterious stranger!" Neria flounced off to find the creatures he'd mentioned , with Daylen trailing behind her. "You there, ghostly blacksmith, give me a staff!"

"No," the ghostly blacksmith replied without looking up from his forge.

"Please?" Daylen wheedled.

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"Aw, come on!"

"No."

"You're a jerk!"

"Fine," the blacksmith tossed an iron staff in the general direction of the apprentices.

Daylen caught the weapon. "Score!"

"Hey, he was giving it to me, jerkwad!" Neria grabbed the staff, tugging insistently.

"Nuh-uh!" Daylen yelled. "Let go, it's mine!

"Fine, but you're not getting any of my magical shiny things!" Neria smirked.

"Whatever, let's just get on with it. Next stop, the spikey bear!"

The pair advanced through Dreamland, killing hostile shiny things, until they found the creature in question. "Greetings, oh mighty denizen of Dreamland," Neria began. "Do you have any sage advice for us?"

"Hell no. Go away," the shapeshifted demon replied.

Neria threw up her hands. "All these Dreamlanders are so stubborn! Daylen, maybe you should try talking to him?"

"Okay," Daylen turned to the demon, eyes wide. "Hey Porcupine-Face, how'd you get so spikey, anyway?"

"I'm supposed to be a bereskarn, idiot," the demon yawned.

"Yeah, yeah, that's great," Neria interrupted. "Now, if you'll just give us our meat shield, we'll get out of your spikes."

The porcupine bear stretched, and finally lumbered to its feet. "Fine, fine. But first, you have to answer three riddles, solve two Sudoku puzzles, and find Waldo."

Their tasks finally completed, the two apprentices marched back toward the center of the map with a tank in tow. Conveniently, now that they had everything they needed to kill it, the rage demon graciously appeared. "Ooh, you're in trouble now, kiddies! I'm gonna possess you and there's nothing you can do about it!" the fiery creature gloated.

"You won't have me without a fight!" Neria challenged, preparing to cast.

Daylen scowled. "I believe he was addressing me."

"Oh please! Why would any demon want you when it could have me?" Neria scoffed.

"All right. Let's ask him." Daylen turned to the demon. "Yo, demon! Given the choice between the two of us, who would you rather possess? Her or me?"

"Well, I promised your meat shield he could have the girl," the rage demon replied.

"What?" Neria rounded on the mouse-turned-mage-turned-bear. "I can't believe a mysterious stranger with suspicious shapeshifting powers has been misleading me all this time!"

"You told!" yelled the shapeshifter, turning on the rage demon furiously. As the pair of demons duked it out, Daylen and Neria were magically transported back to the Prime Material Pla…uh, that is, back to Thedas.

They awoke in the apprentices' dormitory back in Circle Tower. Neria blinked groggily. "Daylen, what are you doing in my bed?"

"For the last time, this is _my_ bed!" Daylen snapped.

"Then why is it in the girls' dormitory?"

Daylen considered this. "Touche."

"I think I can settle this," a scruffy male apprentice spoke up. "You see, word is that that junkie Greagoir's been embezzling funds to support his lyrium habit. So the First Enchanter didn't have enough money in the budget to buy beds for any of the new apprentices, and he's been making everyone double up."

Daylen brightened. "Hey, it's my best friend! Jowan, how are you?"

"Wait a minute." Neria looked hurt. "Jowan, you said I was your best friend!"

Jowan, who had known the contentious pair since childhood, was not going to let another one of these arguments start. "A guy can have two best friends, can't he? Now let's cut to the chase, what's the story with the Harrowing?"

"Well," Daylen began, "we had to fight a bunch of hostile shiny things, then talk to a creepy porcupine bear and—GAH!" He rubbed his arm, which Neria had just surreptitiously zapped with a lightening spell. "Hey, that hurt, and I think I lost some mana points, too! What's wrong with you?"

"The Harrowing is top-secret, dummy!"

"But Jowan's our best friend, we can trust him with—GAH! Stop zapping me!" Daylen shrieked.

"I'm the main character, and I pick the dialogue choices!" Neria snapped.

"Who says you get to be the main character?" Daylen glared. "I've got as much capacity for greatness as you do!"

"Settle down, you don't have to tell me," Jowan grumbled. "You'd better go talk to the First Enchanter, anyway. That quest marker isn't going to move itself."

In cold silence, the pair headed upstairs to Irving's office. Standing in a second-floor hallway, they found a handsome young Templar quietly brooding. He brightened as Neria approached him. "Hi, Neria!"

Neria waved. "Hey, Cullen. What's up?"

"Well, I hate being a Templar and I'm clearly in love with you, but I'd appreciate it if you'd pretend not to notice either of those things," Cullen replied shyly.

Neria considered this. "I don't know. You're awfully cute, and pretty interesting, too. But since there's no trophy for scoring with you, I guess pursuing a relationship would be pretty pointless."

Cullen sighed with relief. "Thanks, I'm glad you see it my way."

As the pair walked away from Cullen, Daylen pouted. "How come you get a secret admirer and I don't?"

"Aw, stop whining, guys always get the good love interests," Neria chided. "Would you just throw me a freaking bone this time?"

"Fine, fine." Daylen pushed open First Enchanter Irving's heavy wooden door. Inside the office, they found Greagoir and Irving arguing in front of a tall, dark, and stoic warrior.

"You can't take all the mages to Ostagar, Duncan!" Greagoir fumed. "I need them here!"

"For what?" Duncan wondered.

"To kick around so I can feel like a big man! The drugs just aren't doing it for me anymore."

Irving noticed Daylen and Neria lingering in the doorway. "We'll have to continue this discussion at another time. My prize pupil is here."

"Which one?" Duncan asked.

"Me," Neria and Daylen answered simultaneously, exchanging vicious glares.

Irving cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Welcome to the Circle, kids. You're very lucky to have full membership." He smiled. "Now, instead of keeping you locked up here under the pretense of training you, we're going to keep you locked up here for no reason at all. Isn't that exciting?"

"Don't patronize us, old man," Neria snapped.

"Fine, then just get out of here and show the Warden-Commander to his room," Irving waved them off. "And don't try to escape, we've got your DNA on file."

"So," Daylen said to Duncan as the three of them walked down the hall. "Got any news of the outside world to share with us?"

"Well, there's a Blight starting at Ostagar. It'll probably be taking over the world any day now," Duncan replied conversationally.

Neria quirked an eyebrow. "Then why aren't you down there fighting it?"

Duncan shrugged. "I have underlings for that."

"Screw the Blight," said Daylen, "I want to know who this year's Oscar nominees are."

"Sorry, I can't help you there." Duncan peered over Daylen's shoulder. "By the way, I think some guy is stalking you."

"Oh, that's just my friend Jowan," Neria replied. "He's kind of an emo. He hangs out in the shadows a lot because he thinks it makes him look mysterious."

"Oh. Well, goodnight." Duncan triple-locked the bedroom door behind him, just to be on the safe side.

Jowan finally came out of hiding. "Hey, guys, we gotta talk, but I don't want to look suspicious, so let's all skulk off to an empty room together." Without waiting for an answer, he dragged his friends into the chapel. "Okay. Now I can tell you my deep dark secret." He gestured to the priestess standing beside him. "This is my girlfriend, Lily."

Neria stared incredulously at Lily. "You're in love with that whiny emo? No accounting for taste."

Daylen nodded. "For once I agree with Surana. Are you sure she's not wearing a wire or something?"

"Shut up!" Jowan reddened.

"All right, all right, so why are you telling us all this anyway?"

"Because Jowan's in big trouble," Lily explained. "The Templars think he's a Death Eater, and they're going to sentence him to the Dementor's Kiss!"

"Yeah, so Lily and I are going to run away together," Jowan went on. "But since they've got my DNA on file, we're going to have to break into the basement and swipe my phylactery. I need you to get me a rod of fire so I can melt the door down."

"Oh, we don't need a rod of fire for that," Daylen replied. "I've already invested two points in fire spells." He regarded Jowan. "Actually, don't _you_ have two points in the fire line yourself? Why do we need the rod?"

Jowan scowled. "Because I said so!"

The pair trudged back to the corridor. "Well," sighed Daylen, "I guess we'd better go get that rod."

"Well, if you're siding with Jowan, I'm squealing to Irving," Neria declared. "Then he'll put you both in Aeonar, and I'll get my bed back!"

"Quit kidding around Neria, this is a serious…" He turned around, to find his elven counterpart already gone.

"That's right, First Enchanter," Neria tattled, "they're planning to destroy his phylactery and run away together."

"Well, you'd better go help them."

Neria blinked. "But shouldn't we be _stopping_ them? You know, zap them with a little lightning, ship them off to Aeonar, get my bed back?"

Irving shook his head. "Nah. We can wait and do that after he's destroyed his phylactery. I mean, it's not like a guy who's been studying top-secret black magic will have any special way to evade capture if we confront him."

Meanwhile, Daylen had killed a dungeon full of giant spiders, grabbed the rod, and returned to Jowan. He brightened when Neria came walking into the chapel. "You changed your mind about helping?"

"No, I'm still spying for Irving, but I seriously doubt it's going to make any difference in the end. So I guess I may as well go with the flow." The girl shrugged helplessly.

"Good enough for me," said Jowan. "Now let's go rob the enchanted blood bank!"

The four of them made their way down to the basement, where they found their path blocked by a massive door. "Well, here it goes." Daylen pressed the rod against the locks and fired away. "Nope, I've got nothing. I guess that would've been too easy."

"Oh." Jowan shrugged. "Well, thanks anyway. I guess I'll just crawl off into a hole and die. Later, everyone, sorry I wasted your time."

Neria groaned. "Jowan, what the hell is wrong with you? There's another door five freaking feet away. Jeez, are you suicidal or something?"

Daylen melted the door open with the rod. "Uh oh, looks like we're going to have to fight our way through a couple dozen ghosts to get to the phylactery chamber."

"That's odd," Neria noted. "This is a tower full of mages and paladins. You'd think that they could've dispelled the apparitions, or exorcized them, or something. It's got to be awfully inconvenient for them to have to blast through twenty hostile spirits every time they need to stick a box in the storage room."

"Go figure that one."

After blasting their way through the ghosts, the group came to a room full of weird statues. "Dude, these things are creepy," Daylen thought aloud.

"And we talk, too!" one of the statues piped up.

"AH! AH! AAAAAAAGH!" shrieked Lily.

"Let's get out of here!" yelped Neria.

"Here," said Jowan, indicating another statue. "If we put the rod of fire in here, we can use it to blast through the wall."

"You know, I _do_ have a Stonefist spell that'd work just fine, but whatever," Daylen sulked. "Nobody around here seems to think much of my magical abilities, so I'll just shut up and point the wand."

They made their way to the phylactery chamber, where Jowan triumphantly snatched up his own little bottle of blood. "Heh heh, I'll smash it good!"

"Jowan, wait!" Neria cried.

"What?" Jowan froze, looking puzzled.

Neria squirmed uncomfortably. "I don't know, it's just that, as a spy for the Circle, I feel like I should say or do something to try to keep you from destroying our only means of monitoring you."

"I appreciate the effort," Jowan replied sympathetically, "but I've still got to do it."

After smashing the phylactery, the four of them headed back upstairs, only to find Irving and Greagoir awaiting them with a squad of Templars. "There you are!" Greagoir snarled. "You know you're not allowed in the repository! You'd better not have touched my stash while you were down there!"

"Actually, Neria's working for me," Irving clarified, "but the boy's got some explaining to do." He clucked disapprovingly at Daylen. "I'm disappointed in you, son. Trying to help a close friend who is being inexplicably condemned to a fate worse than death? It's appalling! Where did I go wrong with you?"

"You're all under arrest!" announced Greagoir. "Guards, take them away."

"Hey, what about me?" Neria protested. "I've been working for you the whole time! I cooperated fully!"

"Yeah, but you killed all the guard-ghosts in the basement," Greagoir pointed out. "And I needed them to protect my stash. You're just as bad as your Death Eater friend!" He gestured to his men. "Go on, seize them!"

"I don't think so," snarled Jowan menacingly. He pulled a wand out of his sleeve and pointed it at the advancing Templars. "Imperio!"

Irving, Greagoir and the rest began uncontrollably dancing the Funky Chicken. "Curse you, Jowan!" screamed Greagoir indignantly.

Jowan beckoned to his lover. "Come on, Lily, let's get out of here while we've got the chance!"

Lily backed away from him, looking utterly horrified. "I'm not going anywhere with you, you lying Death Eater!"

"Lily, please!" Jowan tugged at her sleeve insistently. "We can talk this over later, but we've got to run before they snap out of it and arrest us!"

"No!"

"Lily," Daylen spoke up between dance steps, "I hate to interfere, but you really should at least try to make a break for it. Putting up with Jowan for the few minutes it would take to escape is better than spending the rest of your life in a dungeon, isn't it?"

"No!"

"I can't help but feel a little rejected here," Jowan sniffled, shuffling miserably out of the tower.

When the Imperius Curse finally wore off, Duncan was standing nearby, looking wounded. "You guys are having a dance party and you didn't invite me? Well, that's Templar hospitality for you!"

"No, actually, these two mages helped a Death Eater escape, and I was about to sentence them to a lifetime of horror in the dungeons of Aeonar." Greagoir paused. "Unless you wanted to invoke the Right of Conscription? In which case, my hands would be totally tied."

The two newly-minted Circle mages looked hopefully at the Warden-Commander, but he just shook his head. "No, I don't think so. You see, the Grey Wardens only have one opening at the moment, and these two seem to be a package deal. I mean, they dress in the same clothes, sleep in the same bed, and even seem to share a quest log." He headed for the front door. "I guess I'll just have to look elsewhere for my recruit."

"Well, that clinches it," Greagoir decided. "You two are going to Aeonar. Unfortunately, it's a little crowded right now, so you'll have to share a bunk."

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

><p>AN: A big thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. This is my first Dragon Age fic, so I really appreciate any feedback : ) I always thought it was funny how they crammed Amell and Surana into the same origin story because they were too cheap to write a Dalish mage origin.


	4. Legally Genre Blind

Chapter Four: Legally Genre Blind

"Freeze, shemlen!" growled the Dalish hunter Tamlen, training his bow on a trio of petrified humans. A second elf emerged from the cover of the forest and came over to join him. "Hey there, lethallan, you're just in time to help me murder these humans."

Tamlen's clan-mate, Lyna Mahariel, was confused. "But…why?"

"Because they're humans, of course," Tamlen responded innocently. "So, how do you want to do this? Death by a thousand cuts? An old fashion hanging? Maybe torture them a little bit first?"

Lyna looked disturbed. "Maybe we should ask them what they're doing here."

"Okay." Tamlen glowered at the cowering humans. "Talk fast, you slimy shemlen!"

"W-w-we were just looking at some old ruins," one of the men ventured.

"Ah, so you're nothing but a bunch of dirty grave robbers!" Tamlen accused.

The human who had spoken looked a bit miffed. "Hey, pal, where do you get off treating us like criminals? You're the one who's throwing out racial slurs and threatening to shoot, you know."

"Tamlen, let's not let this situation get violent," Lyna admonished gently. "If you kill them, you don't want it prosecuted as a hate crime."

"Look, we don't want any trouble," the human assured them hastily. "We were just looking around the ruins, but they were full of demons, so we decided to go home and buy some Protection from Evil scrolls. Can we go now?"

"What d'you think, lethallan? Should I let them go?" Tamlen asked.

"For the last time, yes!" Lyna yelled, exasperated.

"Aw, you were serious?" Tamlen looked disappointed. "All right, shoo." He turned to Lyna. "Well, I guess we should go check out those haunted ruins they were talking about."

Lyna frowned. "I don't know. Perhaps we should go home first and get some help from the Keeper, and maybe round up some more fighters to come with us. Doesn't it seem a little reckless to you, two poorly-armed youths trying to singlehandedly assault a dungeon full of evil monsters?"

"No. Should it?"

Lyna considered this. "Well, can we stop by home for a few minutes anyway? I'd really like to change my clothes. This leather bikini I'm wearing might look awesome, but it's not terribly warm."

"Hey, how do you think I feel?" Tamlen folded his arms defensively. "I mean, come on, I'm a badass warrior who has to fight in a slitted miniskirt."

"Who designed this uniform, anyway?" Lyna wondered. "It's no wonder the other races don't take us seriously."

"Yeah, but dwelling on it is just making us depressed. Let's get down to the ruins, maybe gaining some experience points will cheer us up."

The pair moved through the woods until they found a large cave. "That's weird," Lyna noted. "This cave wasn't here before. And it's like, twenty feet tall, I'd remember seeing something that impressive. And what's with those creepy wails of anguish echoing out of the mouth?"

Tamlen shrugged. "No use getting bogged down in semantics, let's go inside."

Lyna grabbed her clan-mate by the skimpy sleeve of his armor. "Tamlen, I really don't think this is smart."

He laughed her off. "Come on, it's just a deep, dark, phantom cave of mystery. What could possibly be dangerous about it?"

"The demons we were repeatedly warned about?"

But Tamlen wasn't listening. He'd already charged into the cave, bow held high. "I ain't afraid of no demons!"

Lyna wearily trudged in after him. "Creators, I hate the buddy system," she grumbled.

"Interesting," Tamlen mused. "These ruins appear to be human, not elven."

"Well, then, there really isn't any need for us to clear them out, is there?" Lyna pointed out. "I mean, since it's not part of restoring our lost heritage or anything."

"Yeah, but we might find something useful inside," Tamlen argued. "Do you want to be hauling around these crappy Tier One weapons forever?"

She gave her companion a double take. "Isn't that a little hypocritical? I mean, when you thought those humans were snooping in elven ruins, you called them a bunch of dirty grave robbers. But it's okay for you to rifle through their ancestors' bones on a whim?"

Tamlen covered his ears. "I can't hear you! La la la la la la la…"

Deeper in the ruins, a multitude of giant spiders awaited the elves. "Damn, I should have brought a can of Raid," Lyna lamented, hacking furiously at the arachnids. "Tamlen, be careful not to step on any of these pressure plate traps. You know, it's really weird that in all the years these traps have been here, the spiders have managed to avoid stepping on them even once."

"Nature's funny like that, I guess." Tamlen's eyes fell on a statue near the back of the ruin. "Oh my gosh! That statue looks to be of ancient elven make, but the architecture on the building looks human. Do you know what this means?"

Lyna regarded her companion strangely. "Um, no. I live in the forest with a clan of reclusive hunter-gatherers. I never got around to earning my B.A. in anthropology."

"Well, I spent a year at Gwaren A&M as part of their student exchange program. In Elven Studies 102, we watched a filmstrip about buildings like these." Tamlen was awed. "They're supposed to date back to the time of Arlathan!"

Lyna was getting fed up. "Okay, so first the ruins are elven, then you say they're human, and now they're elven again? Will you make up your freaking mind?"

A pair of skeletons chose that moment to randomly charge out of nowhere. Lyna raised her daggers to strike the creatures down, but the blades just slipped through their bare rib cages. "Ah!" She looked helplessly to her companion. "Tamlen, how are we supposed to fight these things? There's nothing on them to stab!"

Tamlen was trying to shoot one of the creatures in the head, but his arrows flew harmlessly through its empty eye socket. "Hey, I've got problems of my own here!" he screamed.

"Do you have a club or a hammer you could lend me? " Lyna tried to fend the snarling monsters off by hitting them with her shoe, but it wasn't working very well.

"Lethallan, what are you thinking?" Tamlen scolded. "We're forest elves, we're supposed to be graceful and refined! If we were to fight with clubs like common orcs, what would people think?" He dodged a bony fist. "I'd rather die than disgrace my people like that!"

In desperation, Lyna picked up a chunk of half-crumbled brick and smashed the skeleton's skulls in. "Creators! Those things were pretty good fighters, considering they don't have any eyes to see us with, brains to strategize with, or muscles to lift their weapons with."

Tamlen regarded the fallen skeletons with horror. "This place is haunted!"

Lyna rolled her eyes. "Wow, what was your first clue, brainiac?"

"All right, it's now obvious that there are powerful supernatural entities in these ruins, and that they don't want us here. I guess the only sensible thing to do is explore the area further." He opened a door near the strange statue. "AHHHHH! What the hell is that?"

A massive, snarling porcupine-bear charged the hapless hunter. Lyna reluctantly drew her blades to defend him. "Have I mentioned today how much I hate the buddy system?"

Once the monster was dispatched, Lyna turned to her companion. "All right, Tamlen," she said seriously. "Surely that was enough to convince you we shouldn't be here?"

"Fine, fine," Tamlen conceded. "We'll leave as soon as I'm done examining this ominously glowing mirror." He peered into the object curiously. "Huh, I think I see some sort of mysterious creature beneath the surface. I'd better lean in closer."

"Tamlen!"

"Relax, I'll be fine." He wavered briefly. "Even if I am starting to sense an Archdemon staring malevolently into my very soul, and…ugh, I don't feel so good."

The mirror exploded in a flash of deadly white light. As she lay dying on the cold hard ground, Lyna managed to choke out a few last words. "I…really hate…the buddy system."

She awoke two days later in the camp of her clan. "Wh-what happened? How did I get back here?"

"You almost died of some weird mystery plague, but a tall, dark, and stoic Grey Warden named Duncan brought you home," the Keeper explained helpfully.

"Oh. Did he bring Tamlen back, too?" Lyna reflected a moment. "Please tell me he didn't bring Tamlen back, too! I don't think I'll survive another day as his hunting buddy!"

"You can't blame Tamlen for what happened," the Keeper chided. "I would have done the same thing in his shoes."

Lyna groaned. "It's no wonder we're going extinct. Look, Keeper, there was some kind of magic mirror in those ruins!"

The Keeper perked up. "Cool! Did it speak in rhyme and tell you you're the fairest one of all?"

"No."

"Then it is of no use to us, and we may as well clear out of here," the Keeper decided. "But you'd better go pick up Tamlen before we leave. And take Merrill with you, since Mr. Tall Dark and Stoic says there will be darkspawn."

"But Keeper," Lyna protested meekly, "haven't our previous issues with the buddy system taught you anything? There are armed and armored warriors roaming all over this camp, couldn't you send a contingent of them with us? Pitting two girls against a brood of darkspawn isn't a sound strategy in the best of times, and I've been on my deathbed for the past two days!"

But the Keeper was already busy packing her collection of vintage troll dolls into an aravel. "Don't argue with me, just go!"

In defeat, Lyna slunk off to find her new buddy. A young warrior named Fenarel, who had been lingering around her bedside, approached her with a friendly smile. "I'll go with you, I'd be happy to help," he volunteered.

"No!" Merrill barked. "The buddy system is a time-honored Dalish tradition, and I will not see it abandoned now!"

"Screw the buddy system, he comes with us!" Lyna snarled, pressing the tip of her dagger to the mage's throat. "You got a problem with that?"

"Urk…no," Merrill managed to gasp. "Whatever you want."

The three of them headed for the ruins, where they were met by a group of snarling genlocks. Lyna charged into battle with her blades at the ready, but before she could land a single blow, a darkspawn arrow slammed into her bare upper chest. "Gah!" she howled in agony. "We've really got to do something about this low-cut armor!"

Merrill dispatched the creatures with a blast of fire, then knelt next to Lyna to heal her injuries. "Were those darkspawn?"

"How am I supposed to know that?" Lyna demanded. "I live in the woods with a clan of reclusive hunter-gatherers, I haven't studied exotic taxonomy. Why does everybody keep asking me these idiotic questions?"

They pressed on, to the mouth of the cave, where they found an abandoned campsite. "Uh, this wasn't here before," noted Lyna, getting nervous.

"Yeah, and there's an eerie stillness on the wind," Merrill added. "And what's with those tortured screams coming from inside the cave? This is creepy."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you all!" Lyna yelled, shaking her by the front of her robes.

But Merrill's brief moment of sanity was already over. "Well, time's a-wasting, we'd better get in there and find Tamlen. Or if he's dead, we can at least bring back his broken, mangled, darkspawn-chewed corpse. I'm sure seeing it will be a great comfort to his loved ones."

The three fought their way through the darkspawn, to the room where Tamlen had last been seen. Instead of their hapless comrade, however, they found Warden-Commander Duncan gazing intently into the mirror. "Darn it, this new shade of mascara looks nothing like it did in the catalogue," he lamented. Then, spying the three elves in the doorway, he turned around. "Oh, so you're the ones who have been killing the darkspawn? I thought I heard the sounds of battle."

"Then why didn't you come and help us fight them off?" Lyna wanted to know. "You're a Grey Warden. Isn't that kind of your job?"

Duncan burst out laughing. "Me, fight darkspawn? That's a good one! No, I have underlings to do that for me. So, what're you doing here?"

"I'm looking for my buddy Tamlen," Lyna replied. "Have you seen him? Or at least his darkspawn-chewed corpse?"

"No. Tamlen's dead and soon you'll be dead, too."

"You know, your bedside manner really sucks," Lyna observed.

"I'm a Grey Warden," Duncan replied haughtily. "Being tactful isn't my job, killing darkspawn is."

"Hey, _I'm_ the one who just killed every darkspawn in this cave while you were primping in the mirror, you hypocrite!"

Duncan glared. "Look, I need to talk to your Keeper, can you take me back to camp?"

"But what about Tamlen? We just fought our way through a brood of darkspawn for that adrenaline junkie! Surely you don't expect us to just give up and go home when we haven't even seen his remains?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Trust me, he's a goner. "

Lyna felt like tearing her hair out. "Would you care to elaborate at all? Is he dead? Did he disappear into thin air? Was he abducted by the Phantom of the Opera? At least give us something to put on the death certificate!"

"No," Duncan replied flatly, "and I'm destroying this mirror so that you can't investigate it for yourself." Before the elves could protest, he had smashed the magic mirror into a million pieces. "Now let's get moving, that quest marker isn't going to move itself."

Back at camp, they were greeted by the Keeper. "So, did you find Tamlen?"

Lyna opened her mouth to answer, but Duncan cut her off. "No, and we never will, so don't ever bring up the subject again."

"Okay," the Keeper agreed immediately.

"Are you both crazy?" spluttered Lyna in disbelief. "I can't believe this!" She glowered at Duncan. "You're the worst Grey Warden I've ever met!"

"You think you could do better?" Duncan challenged.

"A lobotomized monkey could do better!"

"Well," Duncan sneered, "I _was _going to make you a Grey Warden, to cure you of that weird mystery plague you picked up in the ruins, but you can forget about that now! I don't need any upstarts challenging my authority!"

"I wouldn't join your crappy order if you got on your knees and begged me!" Lyna roared. "You think I'd follow an empty-headed chump like you into battle? Why, I'd probably be safer fighting under Teyrn freaking Loghain!"

"Fine then!" Duncan thundered. "Screw you and whole genre-blind race! I'm going to Orzammar!"

A/N: I was actually planning to save Mahariel for last, but a couple of people expressed an interest, so here it is. This origin really used to annoy me because of all the plot threads left hanging and never explained, but now that Witch Hunt has finally provided us with some answers, it's one of my faves! Anyway, four origins down, two to go.


	5. The Trouble With Cooties

Chapter Five: The Trouble With Cooties

"I can't keep gambling on you forever, Rica," sneered the evil carta boss Beraht. "So go find yourself a sperm donor or I'll bash your worthless head in!"

"Look, Don Beraht," Rica's brother Faren Brosca interrupted, "you really shouldn't threaten Rica in front of her very protective, very armed brother."

"When I want your opinion, I'll give it to you, you worthless sack of crap!" Beraht smacked the young dwarven man across the face. "As I was saying, Rica, I expect you to seduce a nobleman so that you can bear his child and sponsor me for admission to a noble house."

"Um, I think she already knew that," Faren pointed out.

"Who asked you, you sniveling worm?" Beraht spat. "Now, as we all know, but you might need reminding, I paid for Rica's makeover, so you parasitic little insects both owe me."

"We remember Beraht, you don't need to keep telling us," Faren replied, looking puzzled.

"Good," Beraht growled. "Because, in case you haven't figured it out yet, I am a ruthless crime lord and you are both at my mercy." With that, he got up and left.

"Rica, why don't you just let me kill him?" Faren wheedled. "I mean, you know it's going to happen sooner or later, so shouldn't we just get it over with?"

"Don't rock the boat, Faren," Rica urged him. "Nobody cares about us because they think that the casteless have cooties. But we'll be fine, once the noble I'm seducing finally knocks me up. You know, since the relatives of a nobleman's son have the chance to petition for noble status here in Orzammar."

"Yes, Rica, I know, I've lived here all my—"

"You see, little brother," Rica rambled on as if she hadn't heard him, "in our culture, children take their social position, or "caste", from their same-sex parent. So if I can bear some lord a child, then we'll be on easy street. Unless the kid's a girl, in which case, we'll all be totally screwed."

"Rica, I know all this! Why does everyone around here talk to me like I'm a mentally deficient two year old?"

"I'm sorry, Faren," Rica apologized. "Mom's been insulting your intelligence for so long, sometimes it's hard to remember you're not a really complete moron."

He calmed down a bit. "No harm done. It's just that poverty and subjugation kind of put me in a bad mood. Isn't there some way I could improve my quality of life without pimping out my sister?"

"As a matter of face there is," Rica confirmed. "All you have to do is save the world from the darkspawn menace, found a mighty dynasty of nobles, and get crowned a living god. Simple, right?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll get right on that," Faren replied tiredly.

Emerging into the living room of their stone shack, he spotted his mother, Kalah, lying face-down in a puddle of her own drool. "Is that you, Rica?" she slurred drunkenly.

"No, Mom, Rica doesn't have a beard," Faren reminded her. "And you call _me _stupid?"

"Shut up, you little brat!" she snapped, slapping her son across the face.

"Why does everyone keep smacking me around?" Faren wondered aloud. "Do they not see all my knives and muscles?"

"I said shut up, you putrid puddle of pond scum!" Kalah snarled, threatening him with a broken bottle. "You've got no right to talk back to me! You're ugly and stupid and nobody will ever love you!"

"I get it, I get it, you're an abusive parent. Is this going somewhere?" Faren checked his watch impatiently.

"No," Kalah replied, "but I saw this bumper sticker last night that said 'Have You Emotionally Scarred Your Kids Today?' It made me realize I've gotten lazy with you lately." She punctuated this thought by socking her son in the nose. "So get out of my house, you scum-sucking maggot!"

"All right, already," grumbled Faren, wiping a stream of blood from his face. He headed outside, where his partner-in-crime Leske was waiting. "Hey Leske, sorry I kept you waiting. Mom was off on another drunken tirade, I think we're going to have to send her back to rehab."

"Don't worry about it." Leske clapped him on the back reassuringly. "I passed the time composing a poem about how being a casteless dwarf in Orzammar really blows. You know, just in case you hadn't figured that out yet."

"Yes, yes," Faren snapped, "my life sucks, I understand, can everybody please quit harping on it? What's on the quest log for today?"

"We're supposed to kill some guy who accidentally sneezed on Don Beraht."

"Same as every other day, then. Well, let's get to it, that quest marker isn't going to move itself."

The two thugs made their way through Dust Town, stepping over a number of homeless people along the way. "Ouch! Watch it!" a sleeping beggar growled as Faren stepped on his face.

"Sorry, man," Faren apologized halfheartedly, "but it's partly your fault for taking a nap in the middle of the street."

"Cut them a break, Faren," Leske whispered. "They've got nowhere else to go. There are only four houses in this town."

"I know, my family spent twelve years on a waiting list to get into that little shack of ours. Still, I've never really seen the point. This whole city is underground. It's not like any of us need protection from the elements."

They ascended a stairwell into Orzammar's Commons. A guard recoiled in disgust. "Ew! Don't touch me, I don't want cooties!"

"Nice welcome wagon you've got here," Faren remarked.

A shifty-looking artisan approached them next. "Hey, how would you dusters like to make some cash by selling me a few teeth? I'll pay you well, cash is quite literally my first name! Isn't that cute?"

"Sorry, I've only got mine, and I'm using them right now," Faren apologized. "Just out of curiosity, how do you make any money selling the teeth of casteless in Orzammar? These people are afraid to even touch us, why would they be willing to wear our discarded body parts in their mouths?"

The artisan tugged his collar nervously. "Well, I don't exactly _advertise_ them as…"

A guard had overheard this conversation. "Excuse me, but I couldn't help overhearing." He broke out a set of manacles and clapped them on the artisan's wrists. "I'm afraid that selling cootie-tainted teeth is a capital offense here in Orzammar. It's the guillotine for you, pal!"

Faren and Leske continued merrily on their way. Outside Tapster's Tavern, they noticed a young woman washing laundry in a large basin. Faren tipped his hat politely. "Good morning, miss, how are you today?"

"Don't ever presume to meet my gaze again, you disgusting troglodyte, or I'll scream!" the girl threatened in reply.

"I was just being polite, there's no need to be such a jerkwad about it," Faren pointed out bewilderedly.

"Shut up! You're just jealous because you'll never get to spend your days scrubbing the Shaper's assistant's underwear like I do!"

"Naturally, that'll always be the dream." Faren snorted. "But for now, my career plan is to save the world from the darkspawn menace, found a mighty dynasty of nobles, and get crowned a living god. That's almost as good, right?"

Inside Tapster's, the nobles were chattering excitedly. "Have you heard? They've found signs of Branka in the Deep Roads!"

"Wow, do you think she could still be alive after all this time?"

"Hey, if people are bothering to mention her so loudly, you know she must be."

Faren and Leske pushed through the crowd, to where a jumpy-looking guy sat alone at a corner table, trembling wildly, eyes darting around suspiciously. "There's our man," said Leske.

"I know, it's so obvious." Faren got up in the guy's face. "All right, duster, here's the scoop! I'm the good cop, my friend Leske's the bad cop, and we know you're the one who sneezed on our boss! So give us all your money or you're gonna be sleeping with the fishes!"

"NOOOOOOOO!" The suspicious character shoved a lyrium nugget into each hitman's hand. "Here, take it all! Now please let me go home, I think I wet my pants!"

"Ew." Faren wrinkled his nose. "Fine, whatever, just get yourself to the surface where it's safe." He frowned. "Come to think of it, why don't we all go up to the surface where it's safe?"

"Because then there would be no plot," Leske reminded him. "Come on, let's go find the boss. I think he's at the smithy next door."

"What's he doing there? I thought the whole reason we were carrying this crappy equipment was because the smiths refuse to sell him anything."

Leske shrugged. "He mentioned that he needed to pawn some teeth under the table."

Beraht was waiting inside with his pet skank, Jarvia. "So, did you two worms waste the punk who sneezed on me?"

"Yes, Don Beraht," Faren fibbed with ease.

The carta boss' face twisted into an evil sneer. "You did not! You took a bribe and let him walk, you slimy little tapeworm!"

"Well, if you already knew that, then why did you bother asking us?"

"Don't embarrass me in front of my skank, you grimy little plague rats!" Beraht hissed, slapping him across the face.

"Fine, sorry," said Faren insincerely. "So, can I go home to my dysfunctional family yet, or do you have something else to put in the ol' quest log?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. I need you to go to the Proving Grounds and slip one of the athletes some steroids."

Faren was hesitant. "Gee, Don Beraht, I don't know. According to the Surgeon General, those things can cause mood swings, premature heart attacks, and loss of fertility."

"Just shut up and go to the Proving, you walking pile of puke!"

"We're going, we're going," Leske grumbled, grabbing his friend's arm with one hand and the package of steroids with the other.

As the two of them approached the Proving Grounds, the door guard eyed them with disdain. "You can't come in here, you've got cooties."

"It's okay, we're hitmen for the Mafi—uh, I mean, carta."

The guard relaxed. "Well, why didn't you say so, silly? Carta thugs are always welcome here. Come on in!"

Among the throngs of people inside the arena, there stood a tall, dark, and stoic human. Leske snickered under his breath. "Hey, look, a Grey Warden! I dare you to go talk to him."

"How did you know that? He's not wearing their insignia or anything."

"Actually, he's right, I am a Warden," Duncan interjected helpfully. "My name's Duncan, it's a pleasure to meet you." Duncan bowed politely.

The dwarven youth blinked incredulously. "You mean you're not going to run away from me, screaming for a cootie shot? Cool! So, what brings you here? Fighting darkspawn?"

Duncan laughed. "Oh no, I have underlings for that! I'm here because there's an entry-level position open in the Wardens right now, and I'm looking for someone to fill it. My recruiting efforts on the surface haven't gone very well so far." The Warden-Commander cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Hey, can you recruit me?" Faren asked hopefully. "My sister's always nagging me to save the world from darkspawn, found a mighty dynasty of nobles, and get crowned a living god. Maybe joining the Wardens would get her off my back for a while."

"Sorry, kid, but I don't have time for a job interview right now, I've got money on this fight." With that, the warden headed for his seat.

"Well, I guess that would've been too easy," Faren sighed.

Leske handed him the steroids. "Let's hurry up and do this, I wanna get home before 'The Sopranos' comes on."

They went back to the boys' locker room, and were horrified to see their target passed out drunk on the floor. Faren shook his head ruefully. "Alcoholism, lyrium trafficking, steroids, and now more alcoholism. This city is like one big rave." He turned to Leske. "Well, what are we going to do now?"

"I know!" Leske whispered conspiratorially. "You could dress up in his armor and win the Proving yourself."

"Are you crazy?" Faren yelled. "I'm not doing that, it's suicide! If I don't get killed doing battle with the best warriors in Orzammar, I'll just end up executed for giving the audience cooties! Contrary to popular belief, I'm not stupid! Sorry, no dice."

"But thou must!"

"No!"

"But thou must!"

"No!"

"But thou must!"

"No!"

"But thou must!"

Faren groaned. "I'm not going to get out of this no matter what I say, am I?"

"Nope," Leske confirmed.

"Give me the damn armor," he grumbled reluctantly. Once he was all suited up, Faren went over to the Proving guard at the door to the ring.

"Stone met, Everd," the guard greeted deferentially. "Are you ready for your match?"

Safely concealed under Everd's helmet, Faren nodded.

"Excellent, I'll escort you to the ring. So, how are you doing today, Everd?" the guard chatted as they walked.

Unable to speak, Faren gave the guard a thumbs-up.

"Glad to hear it, I've been a little concerned. I went over to your house the other day, and your wife said you were at the doctor's office. What was wrong with you, anyway?"

Faren chaffed his hands vigorously and pretended to shiver.

"Just a cold? That's good. Well, good luck." The guard slapped him a high five and turned to leave. Relieved, Faren shifted his attention to the fight that awaited him.

Three unconscious opponents later, Faren was preparing to compete for the championship, when Everd came lumbering into the ring, yelling drunkenly. "Eh, whash dat guy doin' in my armor? Ee's gonna get cooties all over it!"

Getting fed up, Faren took off the stolen helmet and threw it at the old fool's head. "There's no such thing as cooties, you morons!"

A collective scream of horror rose up from the crowd at the sight of Faren's face brand. "You monster!" the Proving Master thundered. "How _dare_ you come in here and expose us to your cooties? Guards, seize him! We're going to execute you in the most painful manner available!"

Faren just nodded resignedly. "Yeah, I kind of figured that was how this whole elaborate scheme would end. I'll go quietly."

"Cram it, cootie-catcher!" A guard yelled, whacking him over the head with a mace.

He awoke in a small, dark jail cell. "Rise and shine, buddy," Leske whispered from the cell next door. "We've got company."

Faren blinked groggily. "Is that Don Beraht's pet skank?"

Jarvia laughed evilly. "Laugh it up punk, but you're in my clutches now. So, you've disrupted the gambling industry for years to come, given cooties to every noble in Orzammar, and you didn't even deliver the steroids! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Leske made me do it!"

"He's right, ya know," Leske admitted.

"Tough cookies! Now Beraht's going to execute you in the most painful manner imaginable!" Jarvia gloated.

"Then why did he bother getting me out of prison? The Proving Master was going to do the exact same thing. Seems like kind of a waste of time and resources."

"Shut up, you filthy little toad!" Jarvia stomped off and slammed the door behind her.

"Well," Leske observed, "now that she's out of the way, we'd better get out of here."

"Just leave it to me." Faren rattled the bars of his cell loudly. "Guard!"

The guard came over, looking annoyed. "What is it?"

"I need the keys, please."

"Aw, shut up or I'll beat you before they kill you."

Faren surreptitiously waved a hand at the guard. "You don't want to beat us up."

The guard's face took on a blank look. "I do not want to beat you up," he repeated in a monotone.

"You want to go home and rethink your life."

"I want to go home and rethink my life." He handed over the keys and wandered off dumbly.

Leske was impressed. "One of these days, you're going to have to teach me how to do that."

Faren unlocked both cells, and the two hitmen put on their equipment, which had been conveniently laundered, ironed, folded, and left in a box right next to their cells. They proceeded to slaughter their way through Beraht's hideout, until they reached his top-secret man cave. Inside, he was issuing some last-minute orders to the rest of the Family.

"I want you to track down Rica Brosca and give her the kiss of death."

"But Don Beraht, what about your convoluted scheme to improve your social status by getting her a noble sperm donor?"

"Well, I was thinking it over, and I realized it was stupid of me to be investing so much time and money into that. It's such a long shot, even if she does manage to successfully seduce some noble, get pregnant, and carry a baby to term, there's still only a fifty-fifty chance that the kid will be a boy. That's an awful lot of what-if's to be spending all this money on. No, forget this and forget her."

Faren burst into the room, fuming. "Hey! What did I tell you about threatening Rica in front of her very protective and armed brother?"

"Bah, you don't scare me," Beraht scoffed. "You're just an angry professional hitman with nothing left to lose."

To nobody's surprise but his own, those were Beraht's last words. As his corpse hit the ground, Leske giggled gleefully. "That was fun! Did you see the look of terror in his eyes as the life went out of his mangled body? I'd like to frame it and hang it on my wall!"

Faren took a wary step backward. "Leske, bro, I want you to promise me you'll get yourself some anger management therapy when we get home."

"Okay," Leske agreed reluctantly, "but for now, we'd better make ourselves scarce."

They emerged triumphantly into the Commons, where Warden-Commander Duncan and every guard in Orzammar stood waiting for them. "Freeze, dirt bags! Your little escape attempt is over. You should be ashamed of yourselves. How dare you try to avoid a slow and excruciating execution?"

Duncan gave the guardsmen a funny look. "What are you talking about? It's obvious even to me that Beraht kidnapped them, and I've never even heard of the guy before today."

Faren brightened at the sight of the Warden. "Duncan, good to see you again! Do you think you could help me out of this little jam?"

"Sorry, but no," Duncan replied apologetically. "I was thinking about offering you that entry-level position with the Grey Warden, so I did some asking around. Word on the street is, you've got cooties, and I can't have you infecting the other Wardens. It looks like I'll have to find myself another recruit."

As the guards clapped him in irons, Faren screamed at the Warden's retreating back. "For the last time, there's no such thing as cooties!"

A/N: Ah, Dwarf Commoner, another origin that I love but nobody else seems to : ( One more chapter to go, and then an epilogue.


	6. The Prince?

Chapter Six: The Prince?

"Morning, milord," Ser Gorim greeted cheerfully as he entered his lord's private chamber. "Here's a shield for you to wear to the party. Maybe it'll protect you from assassination, but I wouldn't bet on it."

Lord Duran Aeducan examined the shield dubiously. "_This_ is supposed to be a shield fit for royalty? It's not even made of metal!"

Gorim shrugged. "Yeah, but what are you gonna do? You wanna go watch the Provings for a while? They've probably scrubbed all the cooties out of the arena by now."

"That sounds great, I'd really like to get out of the house for a while. It's awfully hot in here today." Duran looked thoughtful. "Maybe it's all that pesky lava outside my bedroom window."

Gorim chuckled. "Hey, remember the time it started to melt through the roof and we had to put out pots and pans?"

"I know, but it looks so cool!"

They walked down the majestic stone corridors of Orzammar's Royal Palace, until Duran bumped into a young woman. He looked her over thoughtfully. "Hello, I don't think we've ever met, but you're giving me a strange feeling of déjà vu."

"AGH! Please don't hurt me!" she screamed, shaking like a leaf.

"Whoa, lady, take a Valium! All I did was say hi."

"Sorry," she apologized. "I'm just a little edgy lately. My brother was recently arrested for the heinous crime of having cooties. But as long as I've got your ear, do you know where Prince Bhelen is?"

"He's with Prince Trian in the Diamond Quarter," Gorim supplied helpfully.

As the strangely familiar girl ran off, Gorim noticed his lord frowning thoughtfully. "What's wrong, Lord Aeducan?"

"I was just thinking. How come Trian and Bhelen get to be princes and I'm just a lord? That doesn't seem very fair. I'm the second of three sons, it doesn't make any sense under either primogeniture or ultimogeniture."

"It's just a touch of middle child syndrome, ser. Try not to take it personally," Gorim soothed.

"Whatever. Let's just get to the Proving, that quest marker isn't going to move itself."

In front of the palace, they found an angry Master Vollney menacing some author with his sword. "You slandering worm! How dare you suggest that the members of my house use threats to gain power?" He pressed the point of his sword to the cowering man's neck. "Take it back or I'll run you through!"

"No offense, man," Duran piped up, "but you're not really helping your case, here."

Vollney turned his blade on Duran. "I'll have you know censorship is one of Orzammar's most cherished traditions, you little punk. But since you're kind of, sort of, not technically a prince, I'll have to respect your wishes until I can arrange for your assassination."

"Whew!" The scholar heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you, milord. As a reward for your kindness, I'll write you a nice eulogy if you ever get assassinated. Which you almost certainly will."

"Well…thanks, I think."

As the not-quite-prince and his loyal second made their way through the Diamond Quarter, they were approached by Princes Trian and Bhelen. "Atrast vala, big brother," said Bhelen cheerfully.

"Hi, Bhelen."

Trian smacked his younger brothers upside the head. "Did I say you could talk? Or leave the palace? Or breathe?"

"Relax, man," Gorim ventured.

"Shut your yap, you little peasant!" He whacked Gorim in the face with his maul. "I'm the prince and nobody tells me what to do!"

"That's our Trian, a true man of the people," Duran observed sarcastically.

Trian rolled his eyes. "I'm not unhappy telling you that I intend to have you all assassinated at the first opportunity." He lashed his youngest brother with a riding crop. "Let's go, Bhelen."

"Subtlety's not his strongest suit, is it, mate?" remarked Duran. "Well, why don't we swing by the armorsmith's before the Proving starts? Maybe I'll be able to find a shield that's actually made of metal."

"Lord Aeducan, what are you doing here?" asked the armor merchant as the pair approached his kiosk. "Nothing I have here can compare to the priceless heirloom armor you're wearing."

"This armor may look incredible," Duran explained, "but it's actually just plain iron with an armor class of four. Surely you must have something better, you're a freakin' dwarven armorsmith!"

"Nope, sorry."

"Well, thanks for nothing!" Duran snapped. "Come on, Gorim, let's try the weapons merchant. Maybe he'll have something better for me."

The weapon merchant brightened when he saw them. "Lord Aeducan, I'm so glad you stopped by. I've got a proposition for you."

"Are you coming on to me?"

The merchant flushed. "No, I just wanted to give you this." He presented the young lord with a grey iron dagger. "I had it made especially for you."

Duran examined the blade. "No you didn't. It says right here on the certificate of authenticity that it was made in Antiva to be exchanged for lyrium."

"I , uh, I didn't think you'd bother to read that." The merchant coughed nervously. "Sorry, milord."

"That's okay, it's still better than the crappy longsword I've been carrying." He waved the weapon in question derisively. "Look at this thing! Trian gets an enchanted silverite maul with two rune slots, and I'm stuck with this piece of junk? Even Gorim has better equipment than I do, and he's a peasant!" He looked apologetically at Gorim. "No offense, mate."

"None taken."

Duran pocketed the dagger and moved along. Waiting for him on a street corner were a pair of lower-caste girls, who were pointing and giggling. He scowled. "Are those girls laughing at my crummy gear?"

"No, we just want to have your baby," one of the girls explained.

Duran blinked. "Huh?"

"Well, you see," the second girl explained, "here in Orzammar, children take their social status, or 'caste', from their same sex parent. So, if we can get pregnant with some rich mark's…uh, that is, with some charming prince's baby, it'll be noble, and therefore able to sponsor us for noble status. Unless it's a girl, in which case, we'll be dirt poor _and _saddled with an unwanted, socially disadvantaged child to care for."

"Oh. You'd think I would have heard something about that by now. Seeing as how I was born and raised here," Duran mused thoughtfully. "Well, I guess the practice is somewhat understandable."

"Then it's settled! We'll have a baby and live happily ever after!" the girl squealed.

Duran was terrified. "What? But all I said was-"

"We can shack up tonight, I'll see you then!"

"But I didn't agree to—" Duran yelled after her helplessly. "All right, but if this elaborate scheme of yours goes wrong, and you know it will, don't come crying to me!"

Gorim patted his lord on the back consolingly. "Look on the bright side. If you do end up making another little contender for the throne, it'll really annoy Trian."

"True." Duran brightened. "Thanks, buddy, you always know the right thing to say. The Proving's probably over by now, since we stopped to talk to all those people, but let's go check it out anyway."

But a contingent of guards barred the way to the Commons. "Good day, Lord Aeducan." Their commander saluted. "Your father wants us to follow you around and keep your many assassins at bay for a few minutes."

"That's good, I'm not sure this crappy armor and wooden shield are up to the task."

Upon entering the Proving, they were met by the Proving Master himself. "Lord Aeducan, what are you doing here?"

"I've come to beat up all my loyal warriors," Duran replied converstationally.

"I' m sure they'll be thrilled," the Proving Master assured him.

Four bloodbaths later, Duran's loyal subordinates lay in a heap at the side of the ring, and the crowd was going wild. "Well done, Lord Aeducan!" The Proving Master congratulated. "Nothing says benevolence like publicly crippling your subjects. As victor, you've earned a trophy helmet."

Duran frowned. "It's not made of flimsy Tier One iron like the rest of my gear, is it?"

"Actually, yes."

"Then give it to my opponent. As…a gesture of, um…goodwill. Yeah, that'll work. Let's get home, Gorim, it's past my curfew."

When the not-quite-prince entered his father's spacious dining hall, he was immediately rushed and tackled by an ambitious courtier. "Lord Aeducan, like every other noble in this stone-forsaken hole, I need a favor."

"I'll be happy to hear you out if you'll get off my lungs," Duran managed to choke out.

The coutier helped him to his feet and dusted him off, chagrined. "Sorry, milord, I hope I didn't injure your wealthy and powerful ribs. Now listen up. I want you to vouch for the shunned and oppressed surface dwarves who make our disgustingly decadent lives possible."

Duran shrugged and nodded. "Sure, that sounds easy enough."

"Oh no you don't, you little punk!" an older noblewoman admonished. "That sort of action would cost your house money. What kind of pathetic excuse for a prince sacrifices his own wealth to make a better life for his people?" She shook her head sadly. "Your mother would be appalled if she could see this."

The young lord looked thoughtful. "As long as we're on the subject, where exactly is my mother? I've never seen her, and no one around here ever mentions her. Is she dead, or in a nuthouse somewhere, or what?"

The woman lowered her voice uneasily. "Your father made us all promise never to tell you this, but I think you have a right to know. While you were still a baby, a circus came to town, and your mother fell in love with one of the trapeze artists there. When it came time for him to move on to the next town, your mother couldn't bear to be parted from him, so she took up juggling in order to join him on the road. She hasn't been heard from since."

Duran gave the old woman a hug. "Thank you, Lady Helmi, it's good to finally know the truth."

Moments later, a tall, dark, and stoic warrior walked in, trailed by three human youths. "Good day." He bowed. "I'm Duncan of the Grey Wardens."

"Hello, I'm Duran Aeducan, Prince…uh, that is, Lord…uh, I mean, Unspecified Royalty of Orzammar. So, Warden, what brings you to our fair city? Are you here to help us against the darkspawn?"

Duncan chuckled. "No matter how many times I hear that question, it always makes me laugh. No, I brought underlings for that, I'm just here to supervise." The aforementioned underlings glared daggers at the back of their commander's head.

"Oh. Well, good luck with that."

Duran's father, the venerable old King Endrin, greeted his favorite son with a warm smile. "I'm so proud of you, son. I know you'll kick darkspawn butt on your first mission tomorrow. And you look great in your great-grandfather's armor."

Duran happily admired his reflection in a nearby mirror. "Yes, it's at least good for that, I've got to admit."

"Well, enough chit-chat, I need to talk to Trian. Can you go get him for me?"

"But Dad, we're royalty," Duran complained. "Don't we have servants to do boring fetch-quests like that?"

"Yes."

"…Can you send one of them?"

"No," the king responded flatly.

"Why?"

"Just shut up and do it!" King Endrin bellowed.

Gorim dashed after his lord as he left the room. "Wait up for me, milord! Delivering a message to the other side of the house is a two-man job."

Duran rolled his eyes. "Gorim, you're my best friend and I love ya, man, but you've got to quit following me everywhere I go. Lately, you've even started going into the bathroom with me. It's creepy." He pushed open the door to his brother's quarters. "Hey, Trian, Dad wants you."

"Don't order me around!" Trian sneered, sticking his nose in the air. "I'm the prince and you all have to do what I say, so there!"

Bhelen coughed uncomfortably. "Trian, all he said was—"

"I said shut up! Now, I'm going to go talk to Daddy about king stuff, and you don't get to come!" Trian stuck his tongue out at his little brothers, and skipped off with a smug smirk on his face.

Bhelen shuddered. "Ugh, I can't wait to kill that arrogant prat," he muttered under his breath.

"What did you say Bhelen?" Duran asked. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Nothing, big brother!" Bhelen denied hastily. "Listen, man, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Trian's going to kill you."

"What? Why?" Duran wanted to know.

"He's worried because you're more popular than he is. I mean, you even entered the Proving to maim and humiliate your loyal subjects. How can he compete with that?"

"Beats me. Maybe he could institute a universal health care system?"

"Yeah, but that would cost over 1.5 trillion dollars. It's cheaper just to kill you," Bhelen pointed out. "What we need is a pre-emptive strike. You've got to kill him before he can kill you."

Duran mulled this over. "It sounds tempting, but I'm busy tonight. I'm still not sure how it happened, but I somehow got roped into shacking up with some noble hunter. Goodnight, everybody!" The young lord headed for his bedroom. Ser Gorim started to follow him, and he groaned. "Gorim, this is getting disturbing! Don't you have a home to go to?"

The next day in the Deep Roads, King Endrin and his loyal adviser Lord Harrowmont were preparing the newly-minted commander for the battle to come. "All right, kid, here's the scoop," Harrowmont explained. "This thaig is full of darkspawn just like every other square inch of the Deep Roads. We know a shield belonging to the Paragon Aeducan is somewhere inside, though don't ask me how, since the whole place has been impassable for the past several centuries. Any questions?"

"Actually, I do have one. This shield…it wouldn't happen to be made of metal, would it?"

"Actually, yes."

Duran's eyes lit up. "Then I'll find it or die trying!"

Lord Aeducan and his men hacked and slashed their way through the darkspawn, until they finally arrived at the chamber where the shield was hidden. But because nothing can ever be easy in the halls of Orzammar, a large band of mercenaries was blocking their way. "What are you doing here?" Duran demanded.

"Trian hired us. We're here to assassinate you."

"So what else is new?" Duran sighed wearily.

"And then we're going to take the shield," the mercenary captain revealed.

"The one that's made of metal?" The young noble's eyes glowed with rage. "I don't think so! I've never had a decent piece of equipment in all my life, and I'm not going to let anyone stand in my way now that one is finally within reach!" He raised his blade menacingly. "Attack!"

Once the thugs had been dispatched, Duran and his men cautiously entered the chamber. Inside, they could see a heavy stone box labeled "Shield of Aeducan and old Satinalia ornaments." As the new commander approached it, a hefty newspaper fell on his head. He frowned. "What's this?" He read the masthead aloud. "The Sunday New York Times?"

"It's open to the crossword puzzle's page, milord," Gorim observed.

"Huh. I guess we have to finish the puzzle before we get the shield." He took a quill out of his pocket. "What's a six letter word for annoying?"

"Isolde," supplied Gorim.

After about an hour, they were finally down to the last clue. "And a nine letter word for snack?"

"Schmooples," Frandlin Ivo scrawled into the little boxes.

As the beleaguered dwarves sat their pencils down, the box magically opened. Inside, on a bed of plastic gingerbread men and pipe-cleaner snowflakes, was a steel shield bearing the Aeducan arms. Duran examined it with dismay. "Dang it, this shield is even crummier than my old one!" He sighed, rubbing his temples tiredly. "Well, we tried. Come on, boys, let's get this piece of junk back to my old man."

They trudged back through the thaig, eventually stumbling on a large pile of corpses. At the top of the pile lay Prince Trian Aeducan himself. Duran let out a cry of shock. "By the stone! My arrogant, oppressive, murderous big brother is dead." He stared at the body pensively. "I guess I should try to cry or something, but I just can't seem to pull it off."

"Someone's coming," Gorim observed.

"Okay. Then I guess I'll just kneel over the body with a weapon in my hand. I'm sure they won't find it suspicious, even if my clothes _are_ still covered in blood from that last battle."

Seconds later, King Endrin and his entourage barged into the chamber, with Bhelen in the lead. "It's all his fault!" Bhelen pointed accusingly at his surviving sibling. "He killed my beloved older brat…I mean, brother!"

"Bhelen, this is the worst Machiavellian scheme I've ever seen," scoffed Duran. "First off, just how did you he'd be dead, and that his body would be here? Secondly, your accusations lack forensic backing, being completely based on circumstantial evidence." He rolled his eyes. "This case won't hold up in a court of law, I can tell you that much!"

"Don't listen to him, Dad!" Bhelen persisted. "He's always been a sadist. Remember his penchant for publicly maiming loyal warriors?"

"Let's check with the witnesses," Harrowmont suggested, turning to Duran's scout. "What happened here?"

"The commander killed Prince Trian," the scout replied, while carefully counting through a sack of gold coins.

Harrowmont shook his head. "Sorry, ser, but you're a commoner, and therefore, not to be trusted. Frandlin Ivo, is he telling the truth?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Ivo mumbled without meeting his eyes.

"What?" Duran shouted in disbelief. "Ivo, how could you lie about me like this? And after I gave you my crappy Tier One helm!"

Kneeling by the body of his dead son, Endrin went over the facts carefully. "Hm, this is difficult. Who should I believe? My accomplished, heroic, universally adored son, or his philandering and ruthlessly ambitious younger brother?" He looked to his guards. "Talk about a no-brainer. Arrest Duran at once! And be sure to rough him up a lot in the process!"

Duran spent the next few days alone in a cold, dark prison cell, until one morning, Ser Gorim came knocking. "Gorim? By the stone, you followed me into prison? Man, I love you for your dedication, but this stalking bit has got to end!"

"No, milord, I came to deliver some news. Bhelen told the Assembly you were guilty, and since it was almost time to break for lunch, they decided to go ahead and take his word for it."

The deposed prince raised his eyebrows. "And that's what passes for a murder trial around here?"

"Apparently. Since the royal firing squad is out of ammo, they're going to seal you in the Deep Roads to be slaughtered by the darkspawn."

Duran burst out laughing. "And they really think that's going to kill me? Please! That's how all the heroes of legend get their start. They get set adrift on the sea in a crate, exposed on a mountaintop, strung up by the feet in the wilderness, or some such, but it never takes." Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, he hugged his second goodbye. "Don't worry about me, bro, I'm obviously going to be just fine."

Shortly after this conversation, Duran was taken from his cell and marched to a remote Deep Roads entrance. Lord Harrowmont stood grimly by the door. "Lord Aeducan, having been found guilty of the crime of fratricide by the Assembly of Orzammar, you are hereby sentenced to exile and…by the stone, I can't even finish this lame spiel. You and I both know that little snake Bhelen set this up."

"Well, at least someone around here has half a brain," the exile sighed.

Harrowmont patted him on the back sympathetically. "Sorry about this, kid. If it's any consolation, I've already started plotting some revenge schemes. First, I'm going to replace his shampoo with green paint, then I'm going to fill his shoes with Superglue."

"Heh heh, that _does_ make me feel a little better," chuckled the condemned prince. As the massive stone doors stone doors swung open, he charged heroically into the throng of darkspawn and proceeded to slaughter his way through the tunnels. "Man, I can't believe Bhelen actually thought he could get rid of me this way. How naïve can you get?" Duran scoffed.

At long last, he happened across a chamber where three Grey Wardens were locked in battle with a gang of darkspawn. Their commander was watching from a lounge chair, lazily sipping a margarita. "Unspecified Royal Aeducan!" Duncan exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"My evil brother killed my slightly less evil brother and pinned it on me," the dwarf replied succinctly. "They sent me to die against the darkspawn, but I don't think anybody really expected that plan to succeed. Can I join the Wardens instead?"

"Sorry kid, but no," Duncan declined politely. You seem like a good fighter with a lot of experience against the darkspawn, but I'm afraid you would be somewhat redundant as a member of our order. We already have a second-born prince unjustly robbed of his status. Come on, men, let's move out," Duncan motioned to the junior Wardens. "There's nothing for us here."

Duran ran after them. "Come on, guys, give me a break! I'm not _technically _a prince, after all. Wait up!" But there was no point in trying to keep up. His legs were half the size of theirs. "Thanks for nothing, ya lousy humans!"

A/N: I really like the Gorim mini-romance with a femAeducan, but I decided to use a guy because I couldn't pass up a chance to laugh at those crazy noble hunters. Anyway, it's not quite over yet, I've still got an epilogue to tack on the end.


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue

In the dawn-lit fields of Redcliffe, a lone youth was driving a plow. He paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow. It was going to be a tough year, with that pesky Blight coming.

Suddenly, a tall, dark, and stoic warrior came marching across the freshly seeded field. The young farmer approached him angrily. "Hey, watch it, pal, you're trampling my furrows!"

"Sorry," the warrior responded, bowing politely. "My name is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens. I'm looking for a human commoner named Eragon Skywalker."

"That's me," the boy confirmed.

Duncan's face broke into a grin. "Well, congratulations, today's your lucky day! I've come to recruit you." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "The devs tried to talk me out of it, said that an untried farm boy rising to become a national hero was a cliché. But I really think you've got what it takes. What d'you say?"

The boy was thrilled. "You really want me to join your order and save Ferelden? I'm speechless! But isn't there a test required for potential recruits?"

Duncan's smile broadened. "As a matter of fact, yes. And I've already got one planned for you." He turned the boy around, and pointed to an approaching mob. This mob consisted of seven angry youths from a variety of different races and social backgrounds, who were brandishing weapons furiously at the Warden-Commander.

They were led by a radiant battle-maiden with flowing mahogany hair and limpid aquamarine eyes. "Don't listen to him, young Skywalker," Elissa Cousland urged, her voice melodic yet commanding. "He's a pathetic excuse for a Warden. All he ever does is travel around the country, trying to find kids to do his fighting for him!"

"The supernaturally alluring human speaks the truth," Duran Aeducan confirmed. "That rat Duncan left me to die in the Deep Roads!"

"He sent me to rot in prison with this jerk!" Neria Surana and Daylen Amell said in unison, pointing at each other.

"He left my hunting buddy to die!" Lyna Mahariel accused, her skin blotted with the lesions of a Blight disease.

"He said I have cooties!" Faren Brosca thundered indignantly.

"And he saddled me with a crazy husband!" Nesiara Tabris added, glaring daggers at the Warden Commander.

"These kids have been chasing me all over Ferelden," Duncan explained. "It's driving me nuts. So I've decided that your test will be to dispatch them for me."

"What?" the farm boy shrieked, raising his pitchfork defensively. "No way! Fight them yourself, you lazy oaf!"

But Duncan just shoved the young human commoner at the raging mob. "I have underlings for that. By which I mean you. So get to work!"

Elissa put her arm around the farm boy's shoulders. "Listen, friend, there's no need for you to throw your life away. Why don't you join us instead? We're forming our own order, Kids Opposed to Opportunistic Leadership, to protect the youth of Ferelden from the machinations of the Grey Wardens."

"Sounds good to me!" Walking over to join his new brethren, he turned his pitchfork on the Warden-Commander. "Say your prayers, jerkwad!"

With those words the noble order of K.O.O.L., now eight members strong, began to pursue Duncan with renewed vigor. The Warden-Commander fled in terror. "Dang it, now I've got to find myself a new recruit. Maybe I should try the Korcari Wilds. A Human Barbarian Warden has a nice ring to it."

A/N: Just in case some readers haven't heard, Human Commoner and Human Barbarian were planned origins that ended up getting scrapped later.


End file.
